


Have you Heard, Did You Know

by FabiusMaximus



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Angst, EVERYTHING GOES WRONG, Wishes can be dangerous...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-27 22:36:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18748468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FabiusMaximus/pseuds/FabiusMaximus
Summary: A fallen heroine, in a moment of despair, made a wish at a terrible price, changing the entire universe from its very beginning. Nobody knows about her, nobody remembers her. But some things cannot remain forgotten...





	1. Prologue: The Last Day

_Have you seen what they said on the news today_

_Have you heard what they said about us all_

_Do you know what is happening to just every one of us_

_Have you heard, have you heard?_

_There will be a catastrophe the like we've never seen_

_There will be something that will light the sky_

_That the world as we know it, it will never be the same_

_Did you know, did you know?_

Where the Wild Wind Blows (Iron Maiden)

* * *

 

 

Paris was burning as Marinette looked down upon it from her old place on the Eiffel Tower. She’d not been here since that last time with Adrien.

She hadn’t known he was Adrien back then. She hadn’t known at all, not until he’d tried to take her Miraculous. Plagg had warned her and she had stopped him. Taken his Miraculous. Left Adrien there, desperate to use the power of a wish to bring his mother back.

She hadn’t let him. It wasn’t right—not to exchange another life for his mother’s, another family sacrificed, no matter how much she wanted to end his own pain. So she had turned her back on him, Plagg by her side and left him on that Paris roof, unaware of what would happen.

What _had_ happened.

She looked down over the neighborhoods, some shrouded in smoke, some afire. Her home, the school, both gone, burning away, smoke and ash rising on the morning air. Her parents were gone  to ash, along with her home. The roads where she’d walked, crowded with angry mobs, burning cars, shouts rising into the air. She looked up as a formation of jets rocketed overhead, maybe heading to the borders.

_All because of us._ She whispered, “Spots off” and then was revealed. Just Marinette. If someone saw her, saw her transform they would…

Not have enough time to stop her. She reached up and took her earrings off. She’d forbidden Tikki from speaking.  Not because she didn’t want to say goodbye, but because she was afraid that the kwami might dissuade her. Her other hand held a black ring.

Plagg hadn’t spoken for days. Hadn’t spoken very much since that terrible night. He’d been angry—and heartbroken, and it had only gotten worse, as they realized how very far Adrien had fallen.

_If only…_

The thought vanished on the ashy wind. Useless.

Just one thing to do now. Marinette held up the two miraculouses, and started to say the words that could command their power, that would make a wish.

Her throat hurt as she said the words. It wasn’t just an old language, it was the _First_ language, Tikki had told her. Older than the kwami, who after all were only as old as the universe.  _This_ language had been the one used to speak the universe into being.

She spoke the words. Once, twice, three times. Three times to let the Powers know that she was serious. Three times, each time harder than the last, the universe asking her if she was sure. If she was _very_ sure. 

Blood burst from her mouth, even as the sounds of the world around her faded away. Her form started to blaze with…

Calling it light was inadequate. The blaze seemed to cut through everything else, more _real_ than mere matter and energy. And contrasting with the light, Marinette’s shadow fell behind her, great and terrible.  She held up her hands, and then saw the Powers that now regarded her.

Marinette wanted to die, to crawl away, to close her eyes against the regard of those beings. Not evil. Evil would have been less terrifying than the virtue and glory that looked down upon her.

But she had to say her last request, and so, desperately, thinking of her friends, Alya (poor Alya, she had never deserved what had happened to her), all the  terror, all the people, good and evil, and yes, even Adrien, even if she couldn’t grant him absolution. That was one thing she _knew_ looking upon the power before her. One thing it could not change was a man’s choice and Adrien had made his.

She gasped out her request for pardon and redemption for man and felt it take her. But there was one last thing to do. The price.

_Let it fall upon me. Let it **only** fall upon me…_ she thought, and then a great wind took her and whirled her away.

And simultaneously, the world changed. Or rather, the world had _always been_ as Marinette’s wish made it.

But not _only_ as her wish had made it…


	2. Museum Visits

“Adrien!” Nino said. “How did the photo shoot go?”

The blond shook his head as he joined the class at the front of the museum. “Boring. The photographer could never make up his mind…”

“Better than us,” Alya told him. “And I wonder if you paid the photographer. You missed three days of boring lectures and got back just in time for a field trip.”

Adrien shook his head. “I have to make those days up, or my parents will restrict me.” The fifteen-year-old gestured at the school. “Remember, if I fall behind, I have to choose between school and modeling, and you know what Father will say.”

“Yeah,” Nino said. _Everyone_ knew what Gabriel would say.

“I—” Adrien started to say something, then blinked. A janitor was busily sweeping away on the pavement in front of them, not noticing a little electric delivery cart heading for him, the driver distracted by some pretty college students.

Adrien _ran_ as fast as he could, not even thinking to shout, desperately shoving the man out of the way of the cart…

Which stopped well short of where they would have been had he not _almost_ knocked the man out.

Adrien stared at that, and felt his face slowly turn red. He looked down at the janitor, getting ready to get yelled out. “I’m sorr—I thought they weren’t going to stop—”

“Sorry?” The janitor’s eyes were wide. “Son, if he hadn’t stopped and you’d just stood there, I’d be a bit more than ‘sorry’. Never apologize for trying to help.” Adrien got up, and shook his head. He still felt stupid.

“So, what’s your name?” The janitor asked.

“Adrien?”

“Well, Adrien, I hope you enjoy your museum trip,” he smiled. “The past can be a good way to chart the future, after all.”

“I will. Um, what’s your name?”

“Jake. But… a few friends have other names for me. Mr. Sunshine is one I’m partial to.”

“Thanks, Jake!” Adrien saw the class moving into the museum, “I’ve gotta go!”

“Then go well, Adrien Agreste.” Jake smiled, a sense of stillness about him. “Go very well.”

It wasn’t until Adrien had joined up with the rest of the class that he remembered he hadn’t _said_ his last name.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hi peeps! This is Alya with my museum blog!” Alya said as she panned her camera over the museum. Alya loved her blogs. She knew that Chloe sometimes said she was full of herself, and sometimes Chloe was right, but it _thrilled_ her when she saw that someone living in Texas or Japan was following her, seeing things about her city that they might never have discovered otherwise. Alya didn’t focus on the big stuff—she liked showing them the little stuff.

And was especially neat since she had permission to do this on school field trips, so long as she only showed students whose parents had signed release forms on her blog. Most of them did—Alya was careful with her blogs and had even been mentioned in the New York Times once.

She kept that article on her wall.

“So, what’s it this time? A blog about arrowheads? Or paintings?” Chloe asked, Sabrina standing by her. The daughter of a hotel chain owner flipped a hand. “If you’re asking me, you could do a lot—”

“It’s about the Ghost of Paris,” Alya said.

Chloe fell silent. “Her?”

“Who?” Juleka asked.

The two girls looked over at their class mate. Juleka brushed her hair back, face uncomprehending.

“It’s an old legend,” Alya told her. “You moved here, so it’s not surprising you don’t know about it. Supposedly, the Ghost of Paris has been watching over the city for ever…”

She gestured at the small gallery they were heading for. “And just last month, they found something new.”

Juleka stood, staring at the gallery, the paintings—here a small child in a red and black top, there a sketch of a silhouette of a standing young woman against the moon rising over a building in Paris. They were from all eras, old oil paints competing with digital paintings.

And in front was a statue, behind plexiglass, age having long ago effaced any features on its face. There were odd mottlings on the head and body, one of the figure’s arms broken off, the other still intact, hand out stretched with the palm up and facing the viewer.

“They put offerings into the hands,” Alya said. “When I was finishing up my blog I found some information—the head was colored blue and the body…”

“Black and red?” Chloe asked.

“Yeah.” Alya finished filming. “I mean, this statue came from the Parisii tribe—they were some of the earliest groups to live here… and from what the archaeologists said, the fact that the statue is so detailed means that it was probably old even before then, and the cult likely predated permanent inhabitation of the region.” She shook her head. “And it endured—the Roman’s considered the genius spirit of the city to be associated with black, red and ladybugs and it also had blue hair.”

Chloe blew a stray lock of hair out of her face. “So?”

“So when was the last time you saw someone worshiping Jupiter?” Alya looked over at her friend. “Why isn’t she forgotten like all the other ancient gods? Why has there always _been_ a Ghost for as long—even before—there was a Paris? Why do people keep _seeing_ her?”

“Because people see things,” Chloe responded.

“Not my grandfather,” Sabrina said softly. “He was with the Resistance in Paris and he said that the Ghost saved him from the Nazi’s.”

Chloe opened her mouth to say something cutting, then closed it. Sabrina’s grandfather had died a few months before, and the red head still wasn’t over it. Then they heard the sound of Ms. Bustier calling the class over to the presentation they were supposed to listen to.

“Well, she won’t be the only ghost around here if we’re late.” Chloe gestured for Sabrina to follow her and swept off.

“Spooky,” Juleka said as she trailed behind them.

“Yeah,” Alya said. Turning, she walked after the others, before she paused for one last look at the gallery. The rest of the lights were dim, save for the one beaming down onto the ancient statue, and even though it was featureless, Alya couldn’t shake the feeling that it was longingly looking at her. A cool breeze ran through the building, some artifact of the air conditioning, and Alya shivered as she left to join the class.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you might find Jake familiar, and yes, it is a nod to another series, which I will name at the end, because doing it here would out Jake and that's a pretty big spoiler. But note that this is not a crossover save for the name drop.


	3. Dreams of Running

Alya ran. There was smoke around her, buildings burning, but not many firefighters.

 _Where are the firefighters?_ She wondered. But that didn’t matter, not in face of  the terror she felt. She kept trying to grab something around her neck, something important, but it was gone.

Alya didn’t know what it was, but there were flickers, images in her mind, her running across the rooftops, acting like some kind of super hero, then giving…

Something up.

Because she was being hunted.

Alya didn’t know by what or who, but she had to run. Her parents were gone, her family gone. She knew that.

“How do I know that?” she said between gasping for air. “Where did—”

“There she is! The girl with the Ladyblog!” The sound that responded to the cry wasn’t so much human as it was a pack of hounds, baying after a scent. Desperation lent her speed, and she tried to outrun the people behind her.

She failed. A chunk of rock caught her by the foot, and Alya went sprawling, her glasses flying off. Before she could get up, they were on her. A booted foot smashed into her side, another stomped down on her fingers.

She screamed.

“Wait!” One said. “Don’t hurt her…”

_Maybe he’ll help—_

“At least not so badly she can’t talk…”  They hauled her up, and Alya was so terrified that she couldn’t even stand, just hanging between the burly men holding her. She thought she _recognized_ some of the crowd.

And in front of them, a smiling man holding a knife. He flicked the knife and Alya whimpered as the cut was opened up along her cheek, blood starting to drip down it.

“But we can do a _lot_ that lets you still talk, girl… so tell me…” Then something hungry and horrifying came into his expression. “Tell me how we can lay claim to a _wish…”_

 

* * *

 

“Ah!” Alya started awake in her room, the sound of her cry echoing in the silent air. She paused for a few moments, then nodded. Her parents hadn’t heard it, nor had her sisters.  The computer in front of her was still on, the monitor showing her half-finished article about the Ghost of Paris.

“Too many ghost stories, girl,” Alya said to herself. “Maybe you should stick with food—ah!” she flinched at at the stinging sensation on her cheek. She touched it, brought her fingers back in front of her.

There was blood on them.

 _From my chee—_ Alya practically flew to the bathroom, to stare at herself.

The scratch wasn’t anything serious, the bleeding already slowing. A little disinfectant would take care of it.

But she hadn’t had it before she had drifted off.

And it was in the _exact_ place where she’d dreamed of being cut.

Alya turned off the computer and got into bed.  She could finish up the blog entry tomorrow.

But she didn’t sleep for a long, long time.


End file.
